Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Lost in the Blizzard - A village Torn

They attacked in the thick of the storm. Fallgrin was a small town, hardly prepared for a small army of them. A militia of men, armed with spears, shields, and bows alike, who wanted nothing more than to conquer any land they could. As far as you, or anyone else in your village was concerned, they were evil men. Pure evil.

It has been some hours since the town was razed, it is unknown to you, whether or not anyone else survived, or if all perished. Perhaps there are others, out in the snowy, treacherous woodland. There is still a nasty Blizzard about, and all visibility is low. You have managed to find a road, where the woods are cleared, so you can finally find your barrings, to some extent.

-If you look behind you, you see the smoke still rise from what used to be your home.
-To your right, the pine trees are thick, and the visibility low; A large mountain that would require sufficient gear to climb, lies farther beyond.
-To your left, The woods are thinner, with no discernible blockage in the distance.
-Directly ahead, a fair distance along the road, is a faint light. You can barely make it out, and don't recognize it. Then again, you never really left the village.

Nothing can be heard over the torrent of snow and wind.

Such a stinging blow in such a short amount of time. As a vagabond, he mostly stuck to the road as a symbol of refuge, yet he can't help but think of properly prepared food and a warm bed. He had stayed in that town for a few weeks, trying to find whatever work he can assist with. This was the first town he'd come to in months, as his trail left him almost completely lost, all the more painful it is for this village to fall so easily. He tried his best to fight them back but in the end, he had no choice but to retreat, leaving the village to its doom. A decision he would regret for the rest of his life. With so much on his mind, he think it best to continue on his lonely trail. He kicks at the sides of his horse to move forward, directly toward the mysterious and faint light. Such time spent in the village would be bound to make him forget of the reality that is his life.

((How's this for a starter? ))

(Any starter is a good starter! Welcome aboard!)

The torrent of ice and snow continues to pelt the young man and his steed as he continues along the road. He would find that the road itself, diverged left, into the woods - While the source of the light, was coming from a cabin, a little ways in the woods, but visible from the road, dead ahead.

The cabin was quaint, likely only two rooms, with an outhouse a stones throw away. There was one, stained glass window in the front, the flickering light from a candle being refracted from it. As he got closer, the low, groaning bark of a large dog would be vaguely audible through the harsh wind. This was coming from within the cabin itself.

Ivan suddenly feels a surge of excitement as he catches sight of the cabin ahead. How could he have missed this? Of course, suddenly asking for refuge in some stranger's cabin does seem fairly unorthodox, and just plain rude. He frowns underneath his helmet and hauberk as he comes to realise this. He slowly approaches the cabin atop his steed, trying to make sure he doesn't look too much like a threat. Although, with his Slavic looking armour and weapons, this may seem fairly difficult for him.

He tenses up a bit as he heard the barking. His first hypothesis would be that the original owner was out with the dog keeping a watchful eye on the house. Although, he does get the feeling that someone may have heard the dog's barking inside and may be prepping for him. Whatever it was, he tries and dismisses these thoughts.

He leaps down off his horse and slowly approaches the cabin on foot, his armour chinking, and causing quite a ruckus as he approaches. He gulps down some saliva in nerve, hoping this won't be his last time approaching a household he's never seen before.

As the man approaches the house, the front door suddenly swings open wide! The light coming from behind shows the form of a very large, tall man - The hat he wears is made of an authentic bear head, and such a shape is all to be seen, his features hidden by the overcast, and the shadow of the snow flurrying by.

The dog, a large, multi-colored St Bernard, wanders out by his side.[ Suddenly the large dog leaps forth, attempting to lunge at the man, and send him onto the ground, into the thick snow below!.. Yet if he succeeded in this, he would simply huff and puff a few inches from the man's nose, floppy facial features hanging, and visible at this distance apart. The dog would lick the man's face (Or helm, if it hadn't fallen off on impact), much like one would expect of a puppy.


Boris lurches out of his cabin and chuckles at the dog, taking him by the collar and tugging him back. He bares a jovial smile, and offers a hand to the vagabond to aid him upright.

He flinches as the door swings open. He reaches for his dagger as he catches sight of the large man. As the dog began sprinting toward him, he pulls the dagger from its scabbard and rests the blade on the dog's throat as soon as it got near, in case it were to actually harm him. Fortunately, this wasn't the case, and due to the sheer size of the dog, as well as the weight of the armour, he falls over, taking the dog with him. What surprised him most was how the dog began licking his armoured face, which compelled him to restrain the dagger, and throw it aside. He breathes a sigh of relief and rests his head in the snow.

He looks back up to see the large man towering over him. He seemed friendly, judging by his dog and his smile. As soon as the man extended a hand to grasp, he immediately does so, allowing himself up. He stands back up and pats his armour down. "Phew!" Was all he said as he looks at himself, a bit astonished that he was still alive.

Boris raises a hand over his eyes as he peers at the younger man. He gestures wildly with his free hand, towards the Cabin,
"Come on, are you mad? You'll catch your death out here!" he exclaims over the blizzard, uttering a sharp whistle to the dog, who pads back into the log cabin.

Boris stands beside the door and beckons the stranger in, "Don't tarry out here for my sake! If you froze on my steps, you'd be much more a burden!" he assures, chuckling mirthfully.

Ivan does feel compelled to enter the cabin, but something else was on his mind. "Um, I..." He looks at his horse, obviously concerned for its safety. He points at it. "Uh... will my horse be fine?" He asks in a Russian accent, a slight stutter was present in his voice.

Boris pauses at the doorway, looking to the poor horse. He has no stable, nor proper lodging for the beast - His own cabin could perhaps, hold the animal, uncomfortably.. But he would sacrifice that comfort, for the safety of the animal,
"I wouldn't count my chickens there, stranger!.. Bring the beast inside, I'll move my chair!"
he said with a stiff nod, heading inside the cabin, and heaving up what was really just a stump, with a wooden brace for back support, moving it to the corner, so the horse could fit in the small space.

The dog, Chauncey, idly walks into the other room. the bedroom, making himself comfortable upon a mess of tanned furs that have been used as blankets.

Ivan whistles and the horse immediately moves forward. As soon as the horse was in range, he grabs it by the reigns and slowly eases it inside. The warmth of the interior suddenly hits him, in contrast to the sickening cold that is outside. He almost completely heats up with all that armour he's wearing, but he wasn't complaining. He gently stroke the horse's mane as it made its way inside, obviously pleased with this outcome. The interior did make him feel slightly claustrophobic as he was used to wide open spaces, but he can ignore this for now.

He eventually walks around the confined room and finds himself removing his helmet, revealing his hauberk, still covering his head, but further revealing his pale skin, yet still covering his mouth.

The cabin would usually have a rustic, homey feel to it - A roaring fireplace on the left wall, with a moose head mounted above on an oak frame. The furniture was all hand crafted, some more detailed or decorated than others. The center table was simple, a few slabs of wood hammered together with simple tools. There are more taxidermied animals displayed upon the walls, raccoons mostly. To the right, is the doorway to Boris' bedroom.

Boris hoists up the heavy center table and sets it against the wall, adjacent the door, leaving a more open space in the center. He wipes his brow and turns to the stranger, and his horse, "Now, THIS-" He says, gesturing to the horse with both hands, "-Is company I didn't expect this evening!" he says with a mirthful laugh, peering to her left at the bedroom, and looking to Chauncey to back him up in his humor.

Chauncey simply lays there. Lazy dog.

Ivan looks around at the taxidermised animals on the wall. Did he hunt all them? It seemed that way, although he'd rather not question it just yet. The cold really got to Ivan this time. He almost felt like he was getting frostbite, although no discernible evidence could back up this theory. He dared not remove anything else beside his helmet, which he gently settles on one of the home-made tables. He looks to his horse and smiles beneath his hauberk. He was glad that his horse could get a chance to feel the heat of the household, and feels relieved knowing he won't die out there. The horse himself began prodding its head at Chauncey, probably out of curiousity. "Um..." Ivan began but paused. "I'm Ivan, by the way..." He introduced himself as, as he makes his way to the fire.

Boris settles in the corner, picking up his old corncob pipe, still smoldering from the moment before. He places it gently between his lips and props his feet up on the leg of the end table, since it's sitting on it's side.
"Boris." he says in his typical, merry voice, raising his hand to hail the man from his comfortable seat, "What has you out in the snow, this late? Surely you saw the storm coming."

Chauncey raises his large head and regards the horse, canting his head to the side like any dog would.

He picks up his helmet and sits on the place whence his helmet was, trying to ease himself on it. Surprisingly enough, he felt comfortable almost immediately, due to the tough saddle he had to ride on day in and day out. He looks at Boris with slight curiousity. He does seem like a fairly relaxed man, yet he can't help but feel disturbed by the unnaturally homey environment. Whatever is disturbing him may just as well be his imagination, but for now he'll let it slide.

Confronted with a question, he responds somewhat late, as he feels uneasy talking to strangers. "Well... I was staying in that town not far from here but..." He pauses to catch his breath. "Some kind of brigands came and took the town, forcing me to leave, I'm honestly surprised I've found shelter so easily this time..." He explains with diffulty.

Boris' jaw drops, the corncob pipe falling out from between his lips, and clattering onto the ground quietly.
"Brigands?" he says as he comes to a standing, heading towards the nearby window in a sudden rush. Though the storm prevents any sight to the village, which is a good ways off. He balls up his fist, and in sudden anger strikes the frame of the window, causing some of the built up snow on the roof to tumble down to the ground with the rest, "Gods.." he trails off, shaking his head, and turning towards the man, "Did you see any other survivors, Ivan? Did anyone make it out?" he asks hopefully.

Chauncey senses his master's distress and pads over, nudging his hip with the top of his head.

Boris calms slightly, and pats the dog's head.

Ivan sensing his distress tenses up. It seems he wasn't a hermit, that's for sure, so he assumed he knew the town in some way. It's almost strange to him how quickly he changed moods. To him, Boris didn't seem like the type to get upset easily, yet his sure that anyone would grieve over a lost village. Ivan looks to the floor for a second then back up at him. "I don't know..." He pauses for a few seconds. "I tried to fight them off, but they were too many..." He moves in slightly closer to Boris. "You knew them?"

Boris moves to settle back into his chair, uttering a groaning sigh as he does, "I went by about once a week. Maybe twice.. The townsfolk were good folk. Listened to my stories.. Shared a few drinks, a few laughs, bought my furs.." he runs his hand across his face, flustered, "Ymir owned the General store. He always gave me good prices on rope.. He and his girl, they were honest folk.. I hope, they made it somewhere safe.. Come morning, I'll have to look."

Kalliope was standing in the burned ruins of the school. Or, it wasn't really a school. It had been a barn with a few benches and tables. She'd made all of them with the children. Now everything was gone. The snow had covered the floor and the building still smelled like smoke. She was looking for the books who might survived the fire. She'd spent her entire life on this. And now it had burned. Sh used to sleep in the school, so now she was homeless too. She sobbed, as she picked a half burned book up from the ground.

Sargent Mike was among the many raiders who had razed the village, not too long ago. He, and several others of his men, return to the village not long after, banners in hands. They didn't intend to leave it, they intend to fortify it.

Sargent Mike and four armored men ride past the barn in fully gallop. Fortunately, it is dark out, so they miss the woman crying within. But their combined hoof trodding was likely harder to overlook.

"An easy take, boys." the Sargent exclaims, raising the banner of his superiors high, and driving it into the ground at the village's eastern gate. "Get unpacked and set up camp, reinforcements will be here come morning." He states clearly over the wind and snow as he slides off the side of his horse, armored feet clunking loudly against the ground. He rests his left hand casually over the hilt of his longsword, a spear in his right hand, resting over that shoulder. He stands by, as the other men take to setting up hasty shelters to escape the wind and snow, large, fur lined tents.

Kalliope wasn't left with much room to escape, in that direction. However, the Northern wall was collapsed in the raid, and isn't too far from where she is now. If she moves carefully, she may be able to slip off into the woods, undetected.

Ivan sighs as well, distressed over having left the village to its own fate. He walks closer to Boris and rests his hand on his shoulder. "I don't think that'd be a good idea... I have a feeling they've occupied the village after having raided it..." He looks down, a little ashamed he had to say that. It seems to almost be a wise decision to leave the village alone, even if one were to look for survivors. "And if you're going, at least take me along with you. Now, I don't know the extent of your combat skills, but I can say if I come along, your chances of survival would be higher." Little did he know, there are other survivors beside him.